


He Really Shouldn't Have Gone Into Work

by Simplistically_content



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Stiles, M/M, Mild D/s, Name Calling, Rough Sex, Taunting, Top!Derek, author that knows nothing of the porn industry, extremely pissed off!Stiles, pornstar!AU, smart mouth!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplistically_content/pseuds/Simplistically_content
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had the night off, organised to go out with Scott… and somewhere along the line, everything got screwed up. Then his boss called, begging him to come into work. His life, ladies and gentlemen. His life.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Stiles is a pornstar who hasn't had a full night off in weeks and is taking advantage of it while he has it, only to find his best friend lost faith somewhere along the way and he just ends up going to work anyway. Probably shouldn't have gone in when he was so pent up.</p><p>PORNSTAR AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Really Shouldn't Have Gone Into Work

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing
> 
> My knowledge of the porn industry is frightfully limiting, to almost nothing, so don't take offence. On that same vein, try not to get offended when I slip into the d/s talk because while I know something of that scene, I certainly don't know a lot and like many writers before me, I just winged it for this fic.

Stiles was bored. Very extremely _unbelievably_ bored.

And it was all Scott’s fault.

Scott who was propping up the very bar Stiles himself was propping up, only _Scott_ was at the far end of the bar. That is, the end that Stiles was not. Thus, leaving Stiles alone. And bored.

Because of a _girl_.

Stiles really, truly, honestly wished he had better friends. He downed his whiskey, slamming the tumbler on the bar and throwing down a bill as he picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. This has been his first night off in weeks and Scott had promised to be at least semi-present. But no, he’d invited his lady love on the off chance Stiles would be called in to work which, okay, happened a lot, but Stiles had been adamant that it wouldn’t happen that night.

It wasn’t even like Stiles’ job was time sensitive. A shoot landed where it landed. Morning, noon, night, it didn’t matter. When Stiles had tried to explain it to Scott, his friend had got this far away look in his eye - the same one he had whenever Stiles talked about what he did. He repeatedly asked Stiles not to talk about what he did, and admitted to having stopped watching porn online after accidentally clicking on a link that sent him to a clip that had Stiles in it.

Stiles had laughed at that. For like, house. Called it karma, as Scott was a whiny bitch who put hoes before bros.

Not that Stiles would ever call Allison a hoe to her face, she’d probably skin him alive. She was actually painfully lovely, perfect for Scott, didn’t mind what Stiles did for a living as long as she didn’t have to see him do it, they’d had long chats about the logistics of the porn industry and she was an all around great girl.

Way too good for Scott, but yes, perfect for him.

And even though Scott repeatedly blew him off in favour of her (she provided the sex Stiles just wouldn’t provide, it’s really not rocket science), Stiles couldn’t bring himself to get annoyed at her. Scott on the other hand, was another matter entirely.

He dodged and weaved through the crowd in the bar until he was stood behind Scott, and let his hand drop down on his friends shoulder hard as he stuck his head between the happy couple, not even bothering to hide the vindictive smirk at the wince he saw.

“Evening,” Stiles drawled. “I’m going to go, because, y’know, there’s only so much rejection a guy can take.”

“Shit, Stiles man... I’m sorry bro,” Scott turned, looking apologetic and pathetically sorrowful but Stiles just sighed and waved him off.

“I’ve got a job tomorrow morning anyway, want an early night. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Scott nodded, but he was frowning. Stiles ignored him and leaned down to kiss Allison’s cheek, telling her she looked beautiful before saying a final goodbye and walking out of the bar.

Stiles really needed new friends.

“Not feeling it tonight, Mr Stilinski?” one of the bouncers asked and Stiles gave him a wry look.

“Not tonight, Grant.”

“It’s a bit early for the cab rank, would you like me to call you one direct?”

“No, that’s alright,” Stiles waved him off. “I could do with the fresh air. See you around, man,” he patted the guy’s shoulder and took off walking. Not a moment too soon, as he heard the comments start before he got three paces away. People talking about his work, compliments, awed tones, the like. Stiles was used to it. Don’t misunderstand though, he loved his job. Aside from the very pleasurable side that was, in essence, sex, he got to explore any kinks he might be interested in. He was established enough to pick and choose his work so anything he fancied, he’d try it out.

The last time he’d gotten curious, he’d tried out fisting. It went okay, he got off eventually but it took a while to get into his head space. His ass had taken a while to recover from that so the next four shoots he did were either guy/girl or guy/guy with him as the top, with a strict ‘no entry’ policy. He’d try it again though, the orgasm had been _intense_.

He was just starting to feel the chill of the night air when his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

“Stilinski,” he spoke into the receiver, crossing the road at the lights.

_“Look, I know I said you had the night, and I know I promised I’d leave you alone because you have an early one tomorrow but-”_

“I can’t work tonight,” Stiles sighed, actually feeling up to a good thorough fuck right then if he was being honest, but, y’know, rules. “I would, fuck knows why but I would... but I can’t.”

_“Stiles please man, Danny has a throat infection and can’t fucking move from his bed so we don’t have anyone to bottom for Hale. We have him for tonight and with no bottom... we could just stand to get a bit of hype from having him on board.”_

Stiles groaned.

“I’ve had two doubles,” he sighed into the phone, stopping walking as he’d either need to turn one way or the other depending on where he was going by the end of the call. “You know the rules Jackson. You made them.”

_“Look, how far away are you?”_

“About another minute walk, but Jacks-”

_“We have strong coffee and leftover pizza-”_

“Dude, I’m not doing bedroom fucking acrobatics on a full stomach,” but he was already edging towards the work route.

_“Filming doesn’t start for another hour or so. Hale hasn’t even arrived yet. You’ll be fine. Drink the coffee, eat the pizza, snooze off the worst of it and you’ll be golden. Look, Stiles, you know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate...”_

“Get the coffee going, Jesus,” he sighed, hanging up and walking with a purpose towards work.

 

~

****

“Oh God, you’re a fucking life saver, a diamond, the apple of my fucking eye!” Jackson looked nothing but _relieved_ to see him, which, considering their usual bantering-bordering-on-scathing relationship, was certainly something. “Coffee and pizza are in the lounge, waiting. Laura Hale just called, said Hale was in a cab and on his way with his PA.” Stiles gave him a look but Jackson just shrugged.

“Hale has a PA? Seriously?” he couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “Whatever, he better be good. I just need to get out of my head tonight,” he groaned as he downed half the cup of coffee waiting for him and took a bite of the pizza before he even took his jacket off.

“So, rough?” Jackson was writing something down. “Hale said he’d do rough, minimal pain play.”

“I don’t want to hurt much,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Rough. You know, hard, fast, brutal, pin my hands, bite my neck fucking anything. I need to _feel_ it. Did you know,” he turned so he was facing Jackson, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “That Scott brought Allison out with him tonight because he assumed I’d be called into work? What the fuck?!”

“Um... you were?”

“I think I liked asshole Jackson better,” Stiles grumbled, downing the second half of his coffee and taking another bite of pizza. “What’s with this dude anyway? Why are you sporting a hardon for him?”

“He’s _Derek Hale_...?” Jackson continued to stare but Stiles just stared right back. “How you manage to get through the day is beyond me sometimes,” he sighed.

“I get through the day by knowing me. Not by knowing the entire fucking industry. Someone wants to fuck me? Fine. Doesn’t mean I do a research paper everytime I hear a damn name.”

“You’re really pent up tonight, huh?” his boss gave him a contemplative look and Stiles just poured himself another coffee, luke warm, and downed it. “No more coffee, you’re twitchy enough. Head down to studio three. There’s a gym scene set up, get changed and hit the bag or something. I don’t want you twitching on camera for fuck sake.”

“Fine, fine! You owe me double for this one Jackson! I still need to be up at 6am!”

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

Stiles just slammed the door and went to Studio three. He got himself strapped up and into shorts and a wife beater, taping up his hands to the absolute minimum. He waved to the two-man camera crew they had that had just arrived to start setting up and shoved his stuff inside one of the fake lockers, just because he could.

“Don’t mind me,” he said to the guys, who were staring at him. “I’ve been ordered to hit things before the shoot.” They laughed and told him to go on, so he did. He stepped up to the punch bag, situated a few feet away from the last locker and in a completely different lighting, and started swinging.

Ten minutes later, he heard the door of the studio opening and closing and stepped back, cracking his neck and stretching out his arms before stepping forward again.

“Feeling better?” he heard Jackson ask and flicked his eyes over to the locker area, where he was stood with a taller guy Stiles vaguely recognised from... something. Somewhere. An event - not a shoot.

“I’d feel better if it was Scott’s puppy face,” he growled, swinging a particular hard punch at the bag, holding back a smirk when Jackson flinched.

“Dude’s got a girlfriend, can’t fault him for that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson, I swear to God...” he hit the bag again a few more times until stopping completely and just standing, his forehead resting against the bag, his eyes closed.

“You sure he should be doing this if he’s that pissed off?” he heard someone speak, not deep enough to be Hale and looked over to see a skittish, skinny, curly haired kid stood at Hale’s side.

“You think your boss doesn’t have what it takes to keep me in line, kid?” Stiles asked, taking a bottle of water one of the camera guys offered and drinking from it. He saw Hale’s eyebrow quirk along with his lip and yeah, Stiles was almost certain he could. The kid, bless him, blushed something shocking. “Gods you’re adorable,” he laughed.

“How do you want to play this?” Jackson asked, looking between Hale and Stiles. Stiles shrugged.

“I came into this blind. Top calls it,” he watched as Hale started getting himself sorted.

“If you’re really pissed off, he could carry on hitting the bag, I’ll walk in to change after a workout...” and he continues until at the end of his off the cuff script, Stiles nods his head. “Isaac, you have a report to finish, right?” Hale asked the kid, who nodded, patting the messenger back he’d been holding. “Why don’t you go do it in the break room?” Isaac nodded and left the room silently, but not in a huff or resigned. Obviously he didn’t want to witness live porn.

The camera started rolling and Stiles stretched out again before once more, his fists flew. He tried to get as much irritation out before his cue but ended up still stiff with tension when Hale stepped up to the bag to hold it taught for him.

“Got a good stance,” Hale said in an admiring tone and Stiles flashed him an annoyed look, hitting the bag twice more.

“Had a good teacher,” he growled, watching Hale smirk slowly at the reaction.

“Not very friendly, are you?” he drawled and Stiles hit the bag hard enough to make Hale grunt with effort to keep it still.

“Didn’t ask for your help, dude. Take your pretty little face and get lost,” he hit the bag again.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” his tone sent shivers down Stiles’ spine and he was suitably impressed that the guy made the term of endearment sound _hot_. “See, this is _my gym._ ”

“Don’t see your name on it,” Stiles gave a little backchat. “In fact, you just walked in. I was here first. So just fuck off and let me get on with pretending it’s your face I’m hitting, okay?” Stiles smiled sweetly and hit the bag again hard, making Hale take a step. Hale wasn’t smiling anymore, instead he looked feral and it sent a thrill through Stiles’ body, he felt himself reacting within his strap and smirked inwardly, really desperately hoping this would be worth it.

“So it’s like that is it?” Hale growled, releasing the bag and moving towards Stiles, forcing him to step away, around the bag. “Now that’s just not polite,” he drawled and Stiles continued to back up, leaving the bag and backing up towards the lockers.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, pretty boy, get over yourself,” Stiles snapped, finally hitting the locker.

“That’s twice you’ve called me pretty,” Hale smirked, planting his forearms on the lockers either side of Stiles’ head and leaning in close. “And like I said before you so rudely interrupted. This is _my gym_... and there’s a surcharge for cocky little runts that run their mouths.”

Stiles was staring at him with wide eyes, trying to keep himself looking pissed off but not managing it - not that it mattered, the character wasn’t managing it either. Hale just continued to smirk as he waited. “Back the fuck up,” he snapped, trying to shove Hale away and managing to send him back two steps.

“Touching is extra,” Hale reached out and fisted a hand in the hair at the back of Stiles’ neck, yanking him close and crushing their lips together. For his part, Stiles tried to push him back with his hand, that was subsequently caught and held out at arms length by Hale. Hale continued to apply pressure to his lips, opening his mouth and stabbing at Stiles’ closed mouth until Stiles gave a broken groan and opened them.

The movement, simple as it was, opened a floodgate and Hale shoved him back into the lockers, grabbing both Stiles’ hands and pinning them above his head with one hand, using the other to explore Stiles’ left flank, forcing a tortured moan out of Stiles when he moved to pinch and tweak Stiles’ nipple.

“Fucker,” Stiles spat, his head jerking back hard against the metal of the locker and Hale’s expression changed, concerned, making Stiles slump. “Jesus fucking Christ. If I want to stop, I’ll say... I don’t fucking know, Beacon, okay?” Hale frowned and the whole room was frozen. Stiles glanced over at Jackson, who nodded with a shrug, motioning him to go on. “If you want it,” Stiles growled, getting right in Derek’s face. “You’re gonna have to take it,” he tried to jerk his hands out of Hale’s hold, smirking inwardly when it tightened and Hale’s expression righted itself again.

“Wanna know what I think?” Hale asked conversationally, his free hand paying close, painfully good attention to Stiles’ nipples. “I think you got stood up by a friend,” he was smirking and Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You went out for a drink, but he didn’t show. Finally texted you to say he’d gone out with his girl instead,” Hale leaned close to run his tongue around Stiles’ ear and bite at the lobe, forcing a whimper out of the restrained man. “And you just lost it... Poor baby, no one wants to play with you anymore?” he taunted and Stiles’ glare wasn’t totally acting, just like Hale’s smirk wasn’t totally make believe either. “How about you let me play with you? I promise... I’ll treat you how you deserve to be treated...” he nipped at Stiles’ ear and elicited another groan. “Like the slut you are,” he purred, laughing as Stiles tried to jerk his hands free again.

“Fuck you,” Stiles choked out when he felt Hale biting down his neck.

“Well, if you insist”

He was suddenly straddling one of the benches, his hands free but Hale’s own hand fisted firmly in his hair, holding him in place.

“Take it out,” Hale glared down at him and Stiles shot him a scathing look. “Do it, or I’ll take your payment out of your ass... _dry_ ,” he hissed. Stiles just rolled his eyes, obeying however, lowering the waistband of Hale’s shorts, eyes narrowing on the - quite honestly - fucking _beautiful_ dick that sprung out in front of his face at that moment. He didn’t pant, though he wanted to. He wanted to lose himself in it. “Do you need instructions?” Hale drawled and Stiles looked up at him innocently, not saying a word. The hand released his hair, and fisted it again, harder, eliciting an open mouth gasp out of Stiles and Hale took that opportunity to drive his dick as far down Stiles’ throat as he possibly could.

Stiles had been doing this long enough that he’d trained his gag reflex not to respond to certain stimulus - which was bullshit for he’d given a lot of blow jobs, but Hale’s dick hit the back of his throat and he _gagged_ , choking, but unable to do anything because Hale fucking held him there, nose pushed up against the guy’s curls (that tickled, he wasn’t gonna mention it though) until finally, he pulled away, smirking down at him, satisfied while Stiles tried to catch his breath through the coughing.

“Prick,” Stiles glared and was rewarded by Hale slapping his dick against Stiles’ cheek. Stiles had no hope in hell of stopping himself from leaning into taste it again though, and Hale’s eyes lit up, gleaming.

“Probably,” Hale muttered. “But you want it, don’t you? That what you are then? a cock slut? Ready to beg for it from whoever comes along?” He pressed his dick against Stiles lips and they opened, immediately accepting. Hale went slower this time, letting Stiles get used to his size before he sped up, groaning as Stiles started to use his tongue.

And so the scene went on, Stiles losing himself in the role as he was flipped over on the bench, his head cushioned on a single towel while Hale held his hands pinned to the small of his back, his feet on the floor, ass in the air as Hale worked him over, stretching him, fingering him until he was writhing, moaning and drooling against the towel, crying out when the strap holding him in place was torn away and used to tie his hands, giving Hale full use of his own again.

He rubbed circles against the nerve inside Stiles that made him shake and jerk in his grip, holding Stiles’ dick with the other hand, stroking him slowly, torturing curses out of him, much to Hale’s amusement.

“Stop complaining, baby, you’re hard for this, fucking love it... bet you can’t wait to have me pound that tight ass of yours,” Stiles moaned at the thought and tried shoving his ass back, crying out when the movement jostled Hale’s delicate hold on him. “Thought so,” Hale chuckled against his back, nipping the skin, leaving a trail of red bite marks in his wake, ending on a slap to Stiles’ ass, smirking as it clenched around his fingers - so he did it again, and again until Stiles twisted his hips in such away that Hale lost all grip, his fingers slipping out.

“If you’re gonna do it, fucking do it. Stop fucking around!” Stiles snarled.

“You’re really in no position to issue demands, baby,” Hale ran his hands over the pink skin of Stiles’ ass though, squeezing tightly and releasing it, earning another whimper from the bench. “Think you’re open enough for my cock?” he asked conversationally. “Think it’ll hurt?”

Hale rolled the condom on and lubed himself up just enough to give Stiles the burn he wanted. He positioned the head of his dick, pressing against Stiles’ twitching asshole and just stopped.

“What are you waiting for, asshole?” Stiles tried to shift back but Hale’s hand stopped him.

“Beg for it,” Hale was smirking and Stiles hated him a little, only a little though, because holy shit did he need this tonight.

“Fuck you,” he said instead of begging and Hale clucked his tongue, reaching around to stroke Stiles’ dick slowly, firmly, edging him for another five minute until he was cursing up a storm, breathing hard and his eyes watering he wanted it so bad. “ _Please_!” he begged finally. “Fuck - please! Fuck me... shit,” he was twitching again, this time in desperation.

He usually hated getting like this for work - it was too personal, too raw.

The way Hale was currently filling him up though made the discomfort worth it.

The professionals that they were, they didn’t really need prompting for ideas on positions - they found the angles of the cameras and worked with them, Hale always finding a way to get the leverage to fuck Stiles as hard as possible though until both felt themselves nearing their limits and they moved to their final position with both men standing, Stiles’ left foot propped up on a bench that had been moved so they could lean against the lockers - his hands untied and retied so they were in front of him, but looped around Hales’ arm as it wrapped around Stiles’ shoulders from behind. Hale was pressed up against him, thrusting into him over and over, grunting out obligatory script words, foot sliding up next to Stiles’ for more leverage, his free hand moving around to jerk Stiles off in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck!” Stiles gritted out, letting his head fall back against Hale’s shoulder, gasping more when he felt teeth gnawing at his neck. “ _Shit_ ,” he groaned, feeling himself getting closer and closer until all of a sudden, Hale pulled out and spun Stiles around, shoving him onto the bench and kneeling over him, jerking them both off together with the same hand quickly, leaning down to capture Stiles’ lips in another bruising kiss, both groaning into it as they came together, spunk mixing on Stiles’ stomach.

Hale kept stroking, gentler than before until they were both shying from the touch, peppering kisses on Stiles’, along his jaw and down his neck briefly before moving up to his ear.

 _“Need a minute?”_ he whispered low enough the mics wouldn’t be able to pick it up and smiled when he felt Stiles jerk against him. He looked up and saw Jackson stood by the wall. He gestured to the door with his eyes and the man nodded, frowning, concerned for Stiles before he got the crew out of there, cameras and recording equipment turned off and the door closing softly behind them all. “Come on,” Hale said gently, moving into an upright position, sitting up, untying Stiles’ wrists before pulling him up too. While Hale cleaned them up with the towel, Stiles let his head fall on Hale’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

“Shouldn’t have come into work tonight,” he said finally, quietly, and Hale snorted.

“Fuck that,” he said. “That was the best _work_ I’ve had since I started. No regrets on this end.”

“Well there’s a silver lining,” Stiles slurred, amused. He didn’t move when Hale started unwrapping the tape from his hands. “You always this attentive after jobs?” he asked, curious.

“Not at all,” Hale admitted. “But you look like you need someone to lean on right now.”

 _“My hero,”_ Stiles hummed against his skin.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hale asked him seriously, leaning back so their eyes could meet and his eyes widened when he saw how unfocused Stiles’ were. “Shit,” he breathed, watching Stiles smile a small, bitter smile, closing his eyes again.

“Like I said, shouldn’t have come into work tonight.”

“Stiles, stay upright for me, okay? I’m gonna help you get dressed...”

Stiles _tried_ to help, he really did, but in the end it took Hale - _Derek_ \- (he’d been corrected after calling him by his surname) just ordered him to stand still and remain pliable. The pair of them were dressed in ten minutes and Derek had an arm around Stiles’ waist as they walked out of the studio.

Jackson was stood with the crew and Isaac, waiting. The crew went inside and Jackson stepped up to them, still frowning.

“You should’ve told me he wanted to go under,” Derek growled quietly, holding Stiles close. Jackson’s eyes widened.

“He said he needed to get out of his head, not go deep into it, shit,” he looked pissed off. “Sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen. If you wanna set him down in the break room I can take him home-”

“Not happening,” Derek muttered. “I put him there, I take care of him. I just need his address.”

“Do you want me to come up with you?” Isaac asked when they were in the cab outside Stiles’ apartment building but Derek shook his head.

“I’ll probably be here all night,” he admitted. “Go back to the office and tell Laura I’ll call her in the morning.” he gave Isaac some cash for the cab and managed to get Stiles out of it and up to his apartment with minimal trouble, interruption or fight from his charge.

Stiles’ apartment was very lived in, he’d obviously been there a while. It looked more like a home than anywhere else Derek had been while he’d been in LA. He found the bedroom quickly and spoke quite, soothing words as he helped Stiles out of his clothes and under the covers, joining him minutes later, whispering over and over that he was proud, that he did good, that he was so good for Derek. He continued until he felt Stiles slip into a regular sleep and sighed, wondering how he managed to get into a situation like this without forewarning.

He’d think on it in the morning. At that moment he was just too tired.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know if you did!
> 
> I have a regular [Tumblr](http://simplistically-content.tumblr.com) and a [Recs Blog](http://scfandomrecs.tumblr.com) if you're interested! Check them out and/or follow me! I like new people!
> 
> This will almost definitely remain a oneshot. But I should probably stop writing when I should be sleeping...


End file.
